The Peace Killers

by Ty Patterson

  Her smile faded. ‘You know what’s going on here?’

  ‘The peace talks? Sure.’

  ‘You don’t know the big picture, do you?’

  ‘Both sides are negotiating a deal, aren’t they?’ he asked, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, but there’s more to it.’ She gnawed at her lip and then sighed. ‘Zeb, if Clare or Avichai Levin didn’t tell you, neither can I.’

  She looked at him, worried that he would take offense.

  He didn’t. He was used to need-to-know. His boss and the Mossad director would have their reasons.

  She relaxed when he shrugged. ‘I will be spending my days with the negotiating team. Will it be possible for you to escort me from the embassy to their hotel? And back, in the evening?’

  ‘Ma’am, you said you have your detail.’

  ‘I do. I would feel safer if you were around, too. If it helps, I’ll be keeping a low profile. This is the Israeli and Palestinian show. We’re in the shadows.’

  ‘Low profile? You’re the ambassador to Israel!’

  ‘I know.’ She laughed. ‘This job is always in the spotlight. Well, I’ll be trying my best to be as invisible as possible.’

  He thought fast. He didn’t know where the negotiators were holed up. Somewhere in Jerusalem for sure. Joining her detail twice a day will crimp my plans. I don’t have much time.

  He felt the diplomat’s eyes on him and grimaced inwardly. The negotiators will be in some hotel in the city center. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour in the morning and another in the evening, if I join her team.

  ‘Sure, ma’am, though there might be times I can’t make it.’

  ‘You’ll give me notice?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Can you come with me, now?’

  ‘I’ll drop you off at the embassy, ma’am.’

  He walked with her through the terminal and out, slipping into close-protection mode. The suits fell in step behind them as they checked out other travelers automatically, looked for signs of danger, exits and shooting angles.

  They reached his rented SUV without any incident and, a minute later, they were away from the airport.

  * * *

  Gaza Strip, a couple of hours later

  * * *

  ‘Do you know where the negotiators are?’ Abdul Masih asked.

  He was in a small house in Deir Al Balah in the strip, with two other men. Narrow lanes, crowded houses, electricity cables hanging overhead, chimneys and TV dishes sprouting from rooftops marked the Palestinian city.

  The men were heavily armed, as was Masih. Outside, children played in the darkening night, but no adult ventured near the house. The sight of menacing-looking heavies loitering outside was enough to deter people.

  ‘No,’ one of the men shrugged. ‘We have tried hard. Our informers in Jerusalem have no clue.’

  Masih stroked his beard. He was lean, gaunt-faced, and had an air of restless energy around him.

  He moved from house to house, never staying in one place for more than three nights. He had a core group of men around him always, his protectors, who checked out each accommodation prior to his moving in.

  The EQB had built a series of elaborate tunnels that ran beneath the Israel border and opened into various locations in Jerusalem and its outskirts.

  Tunnel was a glorified name for the narrow passages, which often weren’t more than crawl spaces.

  The Al-Qassam militants used those subterranean routes to infiltrate into Israel and carry out their attacks.

  It wasn’t easy. The IDF were continually searching for and closing down tunnels. Sometimes they trapped the militants inside and collapsed the passages on top of them.

  It was a continuous, deadly cat-and-mouse game. Hamas and EQB teams continually digging new burrows, the Israelis shutting down those they could find.

  ‘There’s something,’ Qadir, one of Masih’s lieutenants, spoke. ‘One of our spotters at the airport, he has some news.’

  ‘What?’ the commander uncapped a bottle of water and washed his face. He wiped it with the sleeves of his shirt and drank the remaining liquid, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

  ‘The U.S. ambassador. She arrived in the evening.’

  Masih stilled. His eyes glittered.

  ‘She has gone to their embassy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Follow her, wherever she goes. She will go to the negotiators. There, we’ll find the Palestinians.’

  Qadir wiped his palms on his trousers, uneasily. ‘If we take her out, the U.S. will join the Israelis in attacking us.’

  ‘So what?’ the EQB leader paced the room. ‘Mossad killed our people. We need to retaliate. If Monash dies … we have survived for a long time. We’ll survive even if the Americans bomb us.’

  ‘Follow Monash,’ he gestured, and his men left the room.

  * * *

  Somewhere in the Middle East

  * * *

  The handler had returned from a meeting with the Supreme Leader. The two men had discussed matters of state, alluding only discreetly to the ongoing operation in Israel.

  The leader didn’t want details. He didn’t care that the handler had pulled off the biggest coup of his career by recruiting Magal and Shiri. He was happy that the two Palestinians had been killed, but he wanted more. He launched into a tirade the handler had heard several times. About the Great Satan, about the Jewish nation, how the West was conspiring with the Israelis to overthrow Islamic governments.

  The handler didn’t interrupt as the Supreme Leader ranted for half an hour. He put on an expression of agreement and leaned forward as if listening attentively, nodding occasionally. The two men shared the same objectives. But I can do without the sermonizing.

  The leader finally ended with a demand. When would he see results?

  ‘Soon, sir,’ the handler had bowed his head and left.

  He logged into his screen when he was back in his office and set up a call with the two operatives to discuss the upcoming mission.

  ‘That hotel address you gave us,’ Magal exclaimed, ‘It’s on Emek Refaim! The same street the other hotel was.’

  ‘Yes. I think the Israelis are getting overconfident,’ the handler replied.

  ‘No,’ the kidon replied thoughtfully. ‘German Colony has many business hotels. That one will be well protected by police. Entry will be extremely difficult.’

  ‘You’re saying it is impossible?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Today is finished. You have eight days left. Seven, really. You won’t be able to do much the day of the announcement.’

  ‘Seven,’ Magal agreed. ‘What about Raskov?’

  ‘He’s under control. If anything changes, I’ll take care of it and let you know.’

  ‘What about collateral damage?’

  ‘Don’t care. The Palestinians are the main target.’

  * * *

  Ein Kerem

  * * *

  Magal hung up, removed the SIM card from the burner phone, and cut it to strips. He extracted its battery and smashed it with a hammer. They would dispose of the device’s remains in a drain. Standard operating procedure.

  The two men had moved back to the Ein Kerem safe house after their meeting with Epstein. ‘You think he believed us?’ he had asked Shiri after their meeting with Levin’s investigator.

  ‘Yes. He hasn’t followed us. Hasn’t tapped our phones. Besides, our cover is tight. The handler has made all arrangements. Peter Raskov will come through for us.’

  Magal wiped away all traces of the destroyed phone and looked up when Shiri returned, carrying two plates. Their dinner.

  ‘Do you wonder why we are doing this?’

  His partner looked at him, puzzled. ‘This? Working with the handler? Killing Palestinians?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you identify as?’

  ‘Me? I am Eliel Magal.’

  ‘Are you Israeli? A Jew?’

  ‘I am Eliel Magal.’


  ‘How do you feel right now?’

  ‘Alive.’

  ‘How do you feel during our usual Mossad missions?’

  ‘Mechanical.’

  Shiri nodded in satisfaction. Magal had answered his own question. It was simple.

  The two men were Israeli but had never felt like they belonged in the country. Perhaps it was due to their early years.

  At school, no one had gotten close to them. Their origins, which everyone knew, were an invisible stigma.

  Not Israeli, their classmates would snidely whisper as they excluded Shiri and Magal from activities.

  That tag, not Israeli, followed them into adulthood. Even in Mossad, the previous ramsads and some operatives behaved differently around them. Even though Magal and Shiri were the best in the kidon organization.

  However, it wasn’t their sense of not really belonging that drove them to work with the handler.

  It was simpler.

  We live in the dark. We live on the edge.

  The relationship with the handler offered them all the edge and darkness they longed for. That defined them. That was who they were. If the world called them traitors, so be it.

  They knew what they were doing was considered morally wrong by others. But questions of morality had never bothered them. Patriotism wasn’t a word they identified with.

  The two men dug into their dinner and made plans for turning live Palestinians to dead ones.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jerusalem

  Three days after Assassinations

  Eight days to Announcement

  * * *

  Zeb reached the U.S. embassy early in the morning and waited for the ambassador to emerge. He was in standard undercover operator clothing. A tee, over which his Glock was strapped. A jacket. Cargo pants, their pockets filled with all that he would need. Shades over his eyes and a cap low over his head. Backpack over his shoulders.

  Alice Monash walked out of the embassy flanked by three men in suits. They were hard-faced, hard-edged, their weapons clearly outlined beneath their jackets. She made brief introductions, only one name staying in Zeb’s mind: Bob, who seemed to be team leader for the detail.

  The men headed to an armored Mercedes with darkened windows, and one held the door open for her. Zeb climbed in the front and sat next to the driver. The others got in beside the ambassador, Bob on one side of her, the second man on the other. None batted an eyelid at Zeb’s presence.

  Good. Looks like she’s briefed them about me.

  The driver got in and adjusted his rearview mirror.

  ‘Where to, ma’am?’

  ‘Beit Aghion, the prime minister’s residence.’

  They set off, the car moving smoothly, like the finely tuned machine it was.

  ‘You’re in the service?’ The driver snatched a glance at Zeb when at a light.

  ‘Was. You?’

  ‘Marines. All three of us.’

  No further discussion. Forty-five minutes later, the vehicle pulled up in front of their destination.

  Zeb climbed out, checked the surroundings and tapped his window.

  The two suits got out and surveyed the street before escorting the ambassador inside the residence.

  ‘You hanging around?’ the driver asked him.

  ‘Nope. I’ll be back in the evening.’ Zeb waved a hand and made his way toward Malha, a neighborhood in the southwest part of the city.

  It was a brisk hour’s walk. It gave him time to review the next kidon he was going to face.

  Nachman, thirty-three years old, another operative who had a girlfriend with whom he lived. He was back from Germany, where he had been gathering intel on anti-Jewish hate groups.

  When in Jerusalem, he and his partner went for a run at six am. Two hours later, the two walked their dog in the neighborhood. At ten am, the girlfriend went to work in an ad agency in downtown Jerusalem.

  I’ll catch them as they’re returning home, if I time it right. And if they stick to schedule.

  Which reminded him. He searched for a hotel and found one not far from the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens. He ducked inside its bathroom and pasted a mustache above his lips. He made sure it was securely fastened. Don’t want it falling off, as it had with Carmel and Dalia.

  He applied a fast-acting dye to his hair and colored it black. He inserted the cheek pads, gave one last look, and was good to go.

  I need more disguises. I’ll run out of ideas soon.

  He shelved the thought and picked up his pace.

  * * *

  Zeb’s estimate was correct. Nachman and his girlfriend were heading toward a block of apartments when he turned into their quiet street.

  The building was made of pale limestone, as many were in Jerusalem. Green vines crawled over its walls, some blooming with flowers. A few cars were visible behind gated entrances.

  Zeb reduced the distance to them until he could hear their conversation. The couple made no effort to keep their voices down as they indulged in a playful argument.

  The kidon heard Zeb’s footsteps and looked back. He didn’t seem to sense any threat in the thickset man heading their way. He clasped his girlfriend’s hand tighter and pulled her closer.

  ‘Nachman?’ Zeb called out.

  The kidon reacted fast. He shoved his partner to the left and leapt to the right. He pivoted on his heel to face Zeb, his hand reaching beneath his shirt.

  Zeb held up both hands in a pacifying gesture. The girlfriend’s eyes were wide, her palm cupping her mouth. She didn’t scream, however.

  She probably knows what he does.

  ‘Send her inside,’ he told the kidon.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘She’s not part of this.’

  ‘WHO … ARE … YOU?’ Nachman asked slowly, his voice menacing. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Think. Somebody must have told you a stranger would approach each one of you.’

  Nachman’s eyes flickered. He seemed to get Zeb’s emphasis. ‘Ela,’ he told his girlfriend without looking at her, ‘go inside. I’ll be in, shortly.’

  ‘Ela,’ he snapped impatiently when she didn’t move.

  ‘Should … I … call … someone?’ she asked tremulously.

  ‘No. He’s from my office.’

  ‘You didn’t recognize him just a minute ago.’

  ‘I work in the same organization, ma’am. We’ve never met. It’s just work stuff that we need to discuss. Nothing dangerous, I assure you,’ Zeb butted in, hoping to calm her.

  She looked at him quickly and then at her boyfriend, who nodded reassuringly. She took a few steps toward the building, looked back once again and then went inside.

  ‘You are Epstein?’ Nachman asked, still crouching, still alert.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Show some proof.’

  ‘Proof?’ Zeb snorted. ‘You think we work in some normal office, carrying a card hanging around our necks? Ask the ramsad about me.’

  The kidon called. It was a brief conversation that made him relax.

  ‘You could have arranged a meeting,’ he said, leaning against a parked car.

  No invite to his house. Doesn’t look like I’m his friend. But then, that’s to be expected. I’m investigating all of them.

  ‘Did you kill Maryam Razak and Farhan Ba?’

  His eyes blinked at Zeb’s bluntness.

  ‘No. I was in Germany.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘The ramsad knows it.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have appointed me if he didn’t want to verify every kidon’s movements. Don’t make this difficult.’

  Nachman considered him for a long time. ‘I was undercover … there will be train ticket stubs from Berlin. Restaurant receipts.’

  ‘Don’t mean anything.’

  ‘Airports—’

  ‘You’re a kidon.’ Zeb laughed mockingly. ‘You walked about with your face to the cameras in public places?’

  ‘Ela can confirm.�
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  ‘Yeah, that you were away. Surely you didn’t—’

  ‘I called her every night. On Skype.’

  That stopped Zeb. Not good tradecraft. Hope he has a good reason for it.

  Nachman had. ‘She’s pregnant. We found out before I went to Germany.’

  That is a good reason.

  ‘That still—’

  ‘She records all our calls,’ the kidon hurried to respond. ‘She’s a little emotional now. They are on her computer.’

  That’ll do for me. I can trace his location from those calls. But one more data point will help.

  ‘What about your cell phone?’

  The operative’s brow furrowed as he wondered where Zeb was going with his question. It cleared when he made the connection.

  He fished his mobile phone out of his pocket and tossed it at Zeb.

  ‘This is yours?’

  ‘Only Ela knows the number.’

  ‘Not even the ramsad?’

  ‘I have another phone for him.’

  The kidon watched as Zeb copied the phone’s data. ‘You’re allowed to do that?’

  ‘The ramsad gave me a free hand.’

  Nachman took back his phone, turned it on, checked that Zeb hadn’t tampered with it, and slid it back into his trousers.

  ‘I’m clear?’

  ‘I need those Skype recordings. And also, the data on your laptop.’

  ‘That’s private.’

  ‘You know how a Mossad investigation works.’

  The operative shrugged defeatedly, made a follow-me gesture and led him to his apartment. Zeb waited in the living room while the kidon went to a bedroom. He heard murmuring, and presently Nachman returned with two laptops.

  He gestured toward a couch and sat next to Zeb. Powered on his girlfriend’s laptop, went through a directory and located the recordings folder.

  Zeb extracted a cable and connected his screen to the other machine. He ran a few commands and connected to Werner using his cell phone’s signal. He turned his screen away from Nachman and got the supercomputer to analyze the files.